Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'll never know who has it above their couch. Going to my studio now equates to getting stoned. And stoned I am currently. Pardon me if I sound like Yoda. . . . "I suppose you're here to pick up your painting." "Yes, I am, Sir." "Well." A downward nod of the head. "I'm sorry. All I've got for you is this check." "I'm sorry?" "It's gone, Carie. Sold." And that was my trip to the gallery. . . . Tomorrow, I allow myself to buy what ever I want, within reason, of course. And, within the FOUR HUNDRED AND EIGHTY DOLLARS I GOT FOR PRACTICALLY FREE. God. I could sell my soul forever. 5:02 p.m. - 2003-04-26 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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